Control Issues
by LJC
Summary: Mirror Universe. Pike knows she doesn't love him. Pike/Number One, part of the "Cognitive Dissonance" series.


_Disclaimer: _Star Trek_ and all related elements, characters and indicia © Paramount Pictures / Bad Robot / Spyglass Entertainment 2009. All Rights Reserved. All characters and situations—save those created by the authors for use solely on this website—are copyright Paramount Pictures / Bad Robot / Spyglass Entertainment 2009._

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Author's Note: Written for 'Ship Wars prompt #3 "NCC-17: Get Naked". Huge thanks to my awesome beta, boosette.

**Control Issues**  
by LJC

Pike is no fool. He knows she doesn't love him.

She wants him. Her arousal is genuine. The gleam in her eyes when their gazes meet across the briefing room table is real. Her hands on the closure of his trousers, gripping his shoulders, drawing him in closer, deeper, tighter—those are real.

But there is always a measure of control.

Her movements are swift, sure, practised and above all, _controlled_. She makes choices and acts on them, her ice-blue eyes unreadable even when they are fucking. And even when she lets him crush her to him, or press her back into the mattress with his size, his weight, she still holds back.

It's that finely honed control that drew him to her. The idea of not breaking it, but seeing her _willingly give it up_ consumes him. Even after he'd taken her to his bed, he chases it like a half-remembered dream, or the glittering trail of a comet streaking across his sky. He wants to see her come undone, and know it was his hand, his mouth, _him_ that brought her to that place.

Boyce would say Pike has control issues.

Boyce didn't know the half of it.

Hours, even days will go by where they never touch. It's a game—how long can they go without touching one another? How long before they give in? It's a game she always wins. It should bother him, being predictable. Instead it hones his desire sharp as a cutting edge.

He tells himself he plays the game to prove to himself he can live without her, if he had to. After all, she'd served under him for a year while he found entertainment elsewhere. He ought to be able to go weeks or even months without her. It ought to be simple, if not easy.

_Should_ and _ought_ never enter into it. They're like addicts, and he enjoys being the one weakness she allows herself.

This time, it's five days. Five days of patrolling the edges of the Empire, waiting for battles that never come.

He uses his command override to enter her quarters in the middle of her sleep cycle, finds her drowsy and wet for him. He takes the fingers of her left hand into his mouth and swirls his tongue around them, tasting her on them as she lazily curls herself around him in the dimness. Long fingers curl around the nape of his neck, nails painted glittering black running over the top of his spine lightly.

She doesn't love him, but she desires him.

As he strips off his uniform, he tells himself it's a beginning. It's something he can build on. He pulls aside the sheets, one hand gripping her hip, kneading her flesh with his strong fingers before he slides down her body. He presses kisses against her smooth flesh, nipping at the juncture of her hip and thigh with his teeth, feels her tense and then relax, her breath hitching for just one second as his hands slide down her legs, parting them. He grasps them by the back of the knees, feel them tremble as they settle on his shoulders and the musky scent of her arousal makes him dizzy.

He goes down on her like it's torture—unrelenting, unforgiving, wanting to hear her sob in pleasure. She twists and writhes as if she's trying to escape his lips and tongue, but lifts her hips, thighs and calves tightening with coiled pressure, pulling him closer. He smiles against her, blowing a warm breath across her dripping sex, and then keeps going until she begins to shudder, her words stuttering and nonsensical as she screws her eyes tightly shut.

But he doesn't allow her release. Her eyes snap open as he pulls back, an accusation shining in their depths and he laughs. He can't help it. Any other woman would have begged. She curses him instead.

He thinks he loves her for it—unwisely, but completely.

He's still smiling as she opens herself to him, twining her arms around his neck, her tongue sliding against his as he guides himself into her. He swallows her short, sharp gasp as he slides inside her, teasing her with light touches down her flanks, fingers trailing over her hips and thighs before his hands come up to tangle in her hair.

Her heavy-lidded gaze follows his as he begins to move—his hips sliding up against hers until each time he rocks against her, the base of his cock presses against her over-stimulated clit. She wraps her legs around him, heels digging into the back of his calves as she lifts her hips to meet his shallow thrusts. Her breath is uneven, each inhalation bordering on a whimper.

"Let go," he whispers in her ear, he holds her gaze, changing the angle of his thrusts so he buries himself deep within her tight wet heat. "Let go, let go," he murmurs with each snap of his hips, reaching down to where their bodies met and sliding the pads of his fingers back and forth over her clit. "Come for me. Stay with me. Just... let go."

He repeats the same words in varying order as his fingers, slick with her wetness, press down in tight circles as he rocks against her faster, harder. She begins shaking, but he won't be satisfied until her she tumbles over the edge. He draws low keening moans from her throat, but he wants more. _Needs_ more.

Her eyes drift shut again as she arches her back, mouth opening and closing in silent cries as she tightens around him before collapsing bonelessly against the pillows.

He smoothes her hair back from her face, his weight balanced on his forearms as he chases his own orgasm, disappointment warring with satisfaction at the rosy red flush that creeps over her breasts, neck and cheeks, and the dazed unfocussed blue of her eyes as he comes inside her with a groan, thinking _next time_.


End file.
